


Give and Take

by sarahmonious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Esteem Issues, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1300024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahmonious/pseuds/sarahmonious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 2011 "Hiatus of Dean Love" challenge at spn_rambleon on Livejournal. Dean doesn't think he's worthy of much lately, especially the gentle touches of a woman who saves him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give and Take

It was bad fucking week on top of bad fucking week. The carburetor in his baby was shot, and it took the only mechanic in the ass-backward town that Dean was confined to six endless days to get the parts that he needed for fixing it. And even after the guy deemed it good as new while emptying Dean’s last stash of cash, Dean still had to coax the car back to the living only forty miles out of town, the dipshit of a mechanic having not replaced the coolant.   
  
And then there was the hunt that he completely and utterly failed. Two more people drowned while he was out grabbing a quick bite to eat before hunting down the bunyip. Had he just been at the lake a half an hour sooner, the middle-aged couple would still be around to see their grandchildren. It was possible he had stabbed the bunyip with the silver dagger more times than what was necessary.   
  
Not to even mention that his dad hadn’t checked in with him in three weeks.  
  
 _Really_  not to even mention that when Dean tried to call Sam two nights ago, he was greeted with a click the second he said hello.  
  
So yeah, he wasn’t having the best of days. Didn’t matter though, because he couldn’t afford to fuck up another hunt again. He couldn’t. Plus, there was only so much more money he had to waste on whiskey.  
  
So when he got wind of mysterious fires cropping up in a populated city one hundred and fifty miles north of where he was nursing his hangover, he jumped on the hunt. Dean’s mind raced. Maybe it was the thing that killed mom. Maybe killing it would absolve him of every fuckup he accomplished in the last twenty years. Maybe he’d finally get the rest of his family to pull their heads out of their asses, and everything could go back to the way it was before.  
  
But after a few hours of research and witness questioning, he found that the fires had nothing in common with what had happened to his mom in Sammy’s bedroom. It was looking more and more like some kind of mutated Japanese fire demon, trapping large clusters of people in locked buildings or warehouses and letting loose a fire that burned hotter and brighter than normal, boggling the police and crime scene investigators.   
  
Dean triangulated the fires, grateful that these things were stupid enough to usually follow some kind of pattern, and looked around online until he found a popular club that seemed more than likely the fire demon’s next ideal candidate.  
  
It didn’t matter that he was running on three hours of sleep for the past thirty-six hours and that his breath was short and his heart was pounding in his ears even while sitting down, he hauled ass to the club, and not a moment too soon.  
  
The flames were already erupting from the roof, and it would only be a matter of minutes before the whole building was engulfed. Few people were already stumbling out, screaming, but not enough. Dean raced inside.  
  
It was a clusterfuck of too many people and not enough doors, thick smoke obscuring almost everything and chunks of burning plaster and lights falling from the ceiling.   
  
“This way!” Dean shouted as best he could. “Everybody get the fuck out! This way!” The trickle became a stream of people scrambling for the exit, and Dean choked and spluttered and scanned the building for the fire demon. With the place already up in flames, he doubted it would have stuck around to watch the show, but his dad would knock him senseless if he only went on assumptions. He couldn’t risk it.  
  
Dean ran, bent doubled with his shirt over his nose and mouth towards the back, where the source was. His eyes were streaming tears from the smoke and he was almost unbearably lightheaded, but he couldn’t fuck this up. He couldn’t.   
  
He barely heard the shout of someone behind him, and suddenly the flames were too much, too high, too ferociously hot. He felt something sharp on his head, and his sight went blindingly white and his ears rang.  
  
He closed his eyes as his knees gave out beneath him.  
  
*  
  
Emerging from the depths of unconsciousness always brought forth the same rapid-fire questions:  _where am I? was I sleeping? when did I fall asleep? how long was I sleeping?_  until the realization sets in that  _no, that was not a restful sleep, and yes, that is blood streaming down my face._  
  
“Oh. Hey. You’re awake. Good.” Dean coughed and shifted, fingers going up to the thing that was covering his nose and lips. “Don’t touch.” His hand was moved away from his face.   
  
He opened his eyes to see a woman standing above him, her sequined top reflecting the blue and reds of the ambulance and police lights. “You’re pretty shit at listening to people, you know.” Since he was restricted from pulling off the oxygen mask, Dean just worked his eyebrows up into a question.   
  
“You just saved a lot of people. A  _lot_  of people. Including me. So what I can’t figure out is why you would run back in there when the whole building was obviously going to come down fast.” Dean just stared and eventually shrugged, not sure what else to do or say. It was then that he noticed the thick roll of bandages covering her right hand and arm.   
  
She followed his gaze. “I called after you,” she said. “And when you didn’t turn around, I ran after you. Your head barely missed being crushed by a huge chunk of the ceiling, buddy.”  
  
“You—you pulled me out?” Dean rasped behind the mask, his gut sinking.   
  
“I did.”  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“Nothing major. Just some first degree burns and a nice cut on my palm. I’ll be good as new in a few weeks.”  
  
Dean let out a defeated breath. “Sorry. ‘M sorry.”  
  
The woman frowned. “What are you sorry about? You saved all those people. No one died.”  
  
“But got you hurt,” he mumbled. She wrinkled her nose at him.  
  
“So I was just supposed to leave you? Okay, sure.” He tried to sit up, agitated, tired as fuck, and annoyed that she didn’t understand, but she pushed him back down with not but a finger. “Listen,” she continued. “Your wallet says you’re not from around here, and it would really make me feel better if you came back to my place for the rest of the night instead of being alone in some hotel or something, okay?”  
  
No hotel room; he had already decided beforehand that he’d just catch a few hours of sleep in the car or, if he was lucky and he ended up killing the fire demon that night, he’d just find another hunt and head on that way.   
  
“Fine,” he roughed out. “Just for a few hours.”  
  
“Uh huh. The paramedic said she’d be back around in a few, so we just need to wait for her okay and then we’ll be off.”  
  
“Okay. Thank you.” Dean coughed long and hard, making his head throb in time with his heartbeat. She grabbed his hand, threading her fingers in his, and smiled at him.  
  
*  
  
Her name was Emma and she was a bartender at the club. She was in the back room when the fire started, and didn’t know about it until she saw smoke filtering in through the door and heard Dean’s shouting.   
  
She drove them to her apartment a couple miles down the city blocks, and he had to bite his tongue when she asked him if he was okay with walking up a few flights of stairs.  
  
Emma cleared off her couch and gestured for him to sit. “You can sleep here tonight. I’ve got some sheets and a couple pillows in the closet, I’ll get them in a sec. You need anything to drink?”  
  
“Just some water, thanks.” Dean’s throat was still dry and gruff from the smoke, and he felt like he was going to break out into a coughing fit every five minutes.   
  
“Okay, well I’m just gonna—” Emma suddenly went silent in the kitchen, and Dean turned the corner to see what was up.  
  
Her face was pale and her eyes wide as she clutched the edge of the bandages; he figured she must have accidentally grazed the burn.  
  
“Hey. Hey. You’re all right. Just breathe through it, okay?” He took her to the couch and made her sit with him while she breathed heavily through her nose.   
  
“Fuck,” she finally said.  
  
 _Yeah,_  Dean thought.  _Fucking fuck._  “Hurts like a bitch, I know,” he said out loud. “You okay?”  
  
“Mm. Just needed a sec.”  
  
“Good,” he said. And then he kissed her.  
  
She was caught off guard as much as he was. He didn’t know what he was doing or why he was doing it, only that he needed to.  
  
“What—” she tried to say, but he sucked on her bottom lip and she groaned into his mouth.   
  
“Jesus.” She finally pulled away and looked him in the eye. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but… you really need to be sleeping. You kinda look like death warmed over.”  
  
“No, what I need is to be eating you out right now,” he said, pulling her closer.  
  
“Holy fuck,” she moaned. “Okay, just, shit. Just take some Advil, please, so you don’t, like, pass out on top of me or something.”  
  
Dean took three, closing his eyes as he swallowed the water. His head was pounding and he wanted to sleep. So badly.   
  
Emma led them to her room where she immediately starting stripping both him and herself of their clothes. He unhooked her bra and immediately went for her breasts, cupping one and sucking on the other, pulling at the nipple lightly with his teeth. In response she snaked her hand down his boxer briefs and ran a horribly gentle finger down the underside of his cock before gripping the shit out of it and squeezing.   
  
Dean choked, but instead of letting her continue he pushed her on to the bed, mouthing at her breast once more before fitting his hand over her pussy and grinding the heel of his palm into her short, dark curls. She arched up into it, dying for more pressure, he knew, but he did her one better by slowly sliding a finger up into her slick heat, grinning as she gasped out a breath. He worked it around lazily, still lightly grinding his palm against her, and then added a second finger.  
  
“Your pussy is so desperate for my fingers, isn’t it?” he murmured against her neck, leaving trails of kisses and blood-red hickeys. “Trying to milk them like a big, fat cock. You just want to be filled right up.”   
  
“I really fucking hate you, oh Jesus fuck,” she said behind gritted teeth, trying her best to thrust up as Dean pushed her back down. “Just,  _c’mon._ ”  
  
As Dean moved down the length of her body to her thighs, the throbbing in his head gave a particularly loud  _thump;_  he must’ve made a noise, because Emma lifted herself on one elbow to look at him, her brows drawn in concern.   
  
“You okay?”  
  
“Peachy,” he replied, and before she could say anything else, his tongue was on her, sliding easily through her already drenched curls, making her shiver. He slid both fingers in again, coaxing out her slick while alternately licking it up with a flattened tongue and coating every inch of her skin that he could. Until that point he had neglected to even touch her clit, which he could tell she was getting more and more frustrated about, until he dipped his tongue into her hole and licked a broad stripe up to the dark pink little bud, pressing in only slightly.   
  
She whined obscenely, making his cock do little more than twitch, and did everything she could to push herself into his face. Dean made his tongue rigid and then  _pressed,_  and she gave a little shout, her ass nearly lifting off the bed. He found a good rhythm, finger fucking and sucking on her clit until he was sure the neighbors would be hammering on the walls in any second.   
  
She came with a rush of wetness and indeterminable moaning, her pussy clenching and unclenching relentlessly around his fingers. Massaging his palm around her as she thrust up into the aftershocks, she sighed, and Dean felt, for the most part, pretty good about that.  
  
It was then Emma noticed at the same time that he did that he was barely half hard.   
  
“Good times,” Dean said, smearing the remaining slick around his mouth with the palm of his hand, trying to casually look for his pants but feeling the internal panic of  _need to get out of here right the fuck now._  
  
“Dean, whoa, whoa, wait.” She had a surprisingly firm grip on his arm, forcing him back on the bed before he could even try to pull away. “Are you…. I mean, is it just—”  
  
“No,” Dean said firmly, not even caring what she would ask. “Thanks for everything, but I really gotta go.”   
  
“Look at me,” she said. He couldn’t. He needed to find his pants. He needed…. “Dean.  _Look_  at me.”  
  
He looked. He couldn’t hold her gaze worth a damn, but at least he tried. “I am an awesome judge of character,” she said. “Just trust me on this. And I think you deserve a lot more than what you’re letting yourself have.”   
  
There wasn’t anything farther from the truth, but Dean was too tired to even attempt to argue. Silence hung for a brief, stuttering moment, and then her hand was on him, pulling on what little erection he had left.  
  
“Emma—” he tried, but she just guided them up further on the bed, half leaning on the headboard. It gave him a clear view of her bandaged arm, making his breathing shudder.  
  
“Hush,” she said softly, and with her good, non-bandaged hand she wrapped her fingers around him again.   
  
She wasn’t gentle, but she wasn’t too rough either; as his cock started to fill again he laid his forehead on her collarbone and breathed in her skin, salty with sweat and sweet with perfume. He moved with her hand, thrusting up into her fist, and it felt… it felt really fucking good, and he moaned into her shoulder to let her know. She swiped a thumb over his leaking slit and Dean felt his brain short out for a brief moment.   
  
“That’s it,” she murmured. “Let go for me, baby.”   
  
It was too much. Her grasp went tight, covering him, enveloping him, and he came so hard that the constant pounding in his head became sweeping tidal wave of pleasure, giving him a short reprieve that left him weak.   
  
As Emma went to find an old towel to clean them both up, he sunk down fully onto the bed, knowing there was no way he’d be able to keep his eyes open any longer. He heard her pad back in and felt a brush of the towel against his stomach and sensitive cock. She climbed into bed with him a few minutes later, pressing her naked body against his.  
  
“Just FYI, you’re making breakfast in the morning, buddy,” she said.  
  
She kissed the corner of his upturned lips. He still had the fire demon to track down and kill and a shitload of other issues to deal with, but for now, this was okay.


End file.
